“Aye,” put in the skipper, “we saw your boat adrift—at least, old Masters did—I’ll give him the credit for that. Then we picked you up, and here you are!”
Hardly had the skipper uttered these words, completing the colonel’s story, when Mr Fosset suddenly poked his head through the skylight over the after end of the saloon, the hatch of which opened out on the deck of the poop above.
Nor was the first mate merely satisfied with the abrupt intrusion of his figurehead into our midst, for he rattled the glass of the skylight in no very gentle fashion at the same time, the better, I suppose, to attract our attention, though we were all staring open-mouthed at him already, all startled by his unexpected appearance on the scene.
But he rattled the glass all the same as he looked down upon us, none the less; aye, all the more, rattled it with a will, frightening us all!
“Hi! Cap’en, Cap’en Applegarth!” he sang out at the very top of his voice, as excited as you please. “That ship’s in sight! the ship’s in sight, at last, sir. She’s hull down to leeward about seven miles off! But we’re overhauling her fast now, sir, hand over hand!”
Chapter Twenty Three.
Within Hail.
“By George! is that so?” ejaculated the skipper, starting off with a mad clutch at his cap, which he had thrown off on to a locker close by in the heat of his excitement during the colonel’s yarn. “I’ll be on the bridge in a jiffey! Thank God for that news!”